“I-I’m all right,” she said, passing a hand over her eyes. She cast a tentative glance in the direction of the desk. “Is she … is she …”
“Looks that way,” I said. Gary looked at me over Mazie’s shoulder and I knew he thought one of us should verify that Londra was, indeed, beyond help. I steeled myself and inched toward the desk. Londra’s right arm lay across the top of the desk while her left hung down at her side. I suppressed a shudder of revulsion and felt the right wrist for a pulse. Her skin was cool to the touch.
After a minute, I let go of her wrist and looked at the other two. “No pulse,” I announced. “She’s gone.”
Mazie let out another strangled sob, put her hand to her mouth. Gary guided her to a chair at the far end of the room, and I saw him pull out his cell, presumably to dial 911.
I turned back to the body and forced myself to look at Londra’s face. Aside from the swollen tongue, several angry red splotches covered her skin, and her lips were tinged with a faint blue hue. I stepped to the other side of the desk to view her from another angle, and paused as my shoe stepped on something that gave a loud crunchy sound. Looking down, I saw several peanut shells scattered around the bottom of the chair, and something else. A single sheet of paper lying against the side of the chair. The tips of Londra’s lifeless fingers just grazed the top, and I could see there was writing on it. I started to bend down, but Gary snapped his cell shut just then and said in a sharp tone, “The 911 operator said not to touch anything. We should wait for the authorities outside.”
I cast another look at the paper, then reluctantly turned and followed Gary and Mazie back onto the front porch. We didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later a black-and-white patrol car, lights flashing, came to a screeching halt behind Gary’s convertible. Two officers got out and hurried over to us. One appeared to be in his mid-fifties, paunchy and balding. The younger one I recognized from my previous murder scene, and judging from the startled expression on his face, he recognized me as well.
“Officer Riley,” I greeted him. I was going to add Nice to see you and then thought better of it.
He tipped his cap. “Ms. McMillan. You found the body?” He might as well have added again.
Gary stepped in front of me. “We all did,” he said.
“What were you all doing here?” the older man asked. The nameplate over his badge proclaimed him to be Martin Malone.
“We had some business with Londra,” Mazie piped up. “She worked for me at the museum.” Her chin jutted out, indicating me and Gary. “Ms. McMillan and Mr. Presser had a few questions about a museum shipment, and since Londra handled it I suggested we come here and ask her to clear things up. We got here and found her porch light off and her door open, and Londra …” At that point she choked up and couldn’t go on. She reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a white glove and a roll of breath mints, and lastly a Kleenex. She shoved the glove and mints back into her pocket and then blew loudly into the Kleenex before crumpling it into a ball and leaning heavily on the older officer’s arm.
Officer Malone looked quite uncomfortable. It was obvious to me that he hadn’t much experience with seeing women cry or get upset. He looked again at Mazie and patted her shoulder awkwardly. “There, there,” he murmured. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” He raised his head and looked at Gary and me. “Where’s the body?” he asked abruptly.
“In her den. If you’ll follow me.” Gary motioned to the officers to follow him. Riley immediately fell into step behind Gary. Malone, with a little sigh, pressed Mazie into my arms before practically falling all over himself to follow the other two.
Mazie dabbed at her eyes with the edge of the Kleenex ball. “What happens now?”
“They’ve probably already notified Detective Bloodgood,” I said. “The coroner’s men will come out to examine the body, and then the officers will make a sweep of the crime scene. This house will probably be off-limits for a few days.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than the coroner’s truck pulled up behind the police car, followed by a dark gray sedan. Josh got out of the sedan and hurried toward the house. He stopped dead on the steps when he saw me, and I held up my hand, traffic cop–style, and said, “Before you even ask, we all found the body. Gary, Mazie, and me. We walked into the den together, and Londra was sitting behind the desk. And yes, I did touch the body, just the wrist, to make sure she was beyond help before Gary called 911. And aside from ringing the buzzer and pushing open the front door, which was already partially open, none of us touched anything.” I glanced swiftly at Mazie for confirmation, and she nodded.
Josh passed a hand across his eyes. “That’s a plus.” He glanced around. “You said Gary was with you?”
I inclined my head toward the front door. “He went to show the other officers the body.”
“Okay.” He paused, then added in a gruff tone, “Stay here,” before turning on his heel and disappearing inside the house.
Mazie shuddered. “Like we’d want to go back in there.” She gave me an anxious look. “Poor Londra. Her face looked so mottled. What do you think it means?”
I had an idea, but before I could voice an opinion, Officer Malone stuck his head outside the door and motioned to us. “Detective Bloodgood would like you to come in and have a seat in the living room. Please don’t touch anything, and he’ll be with you shortly.”
We went inside and Officer Malone ushered us into the living room. Gary was already seated there, on a brocade-covered sofa. I sat down next to him while Mazie eased herself into a wingchair directly opposite the fireplace.
“This is the fun part,” I said, drawing air quotes around the word fun. “We’ll be questioned about what we were doing here, finding the body, yadda yadda.”
Mazie frowned. “Didn’t we already answer all that?”
“Yes, but Detective Bloodgood will want more detail.” I leaned back against the cushions and closed my eyes. “Believe me, I know.”
We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence for about ten minutes and then Josh walked in. “I just have a few questions for you three. I’ll try and keep this brief.” He hesitated, then seated himself in a wing chair to Mazie’s left, facing Gary and me. He pulled out his trusty notebook, flipped a few pages, and then raised his gaze to mine.
“I hope finding dead bodies isn’t going to become a habit with you,” he said.
I shifted my position on the couch slightly. “I hope not either,” I said. “It’s no fun, I can tell you that.”
“The three of you came here together?”
“We’ve already answered that question,” Mazie piped up, a trifle irritably, I thought. “Ms. McMillan and Mr. Presser had a question about one of the museum shipments that Londra oversaw, and I thought we could just ask her about it and settle the matter quickly.”
“I see.” He scribbled something in his book and then looked right at me. “What shipment were you questioning?”
“The one with the rare knives,” I said. “The one with the Tuareg knife, specifically.”
“And why were you questioning it?”
“Because I checked with the manager of the shop who sent them,” Gary said. “And he claimed the shipment was complete, and none of the items were missing, as Ms. Madison previously reported. He didn’t recall getting a revised bill or a refund request.”
Josh turned his gaze on Mazie. She cleared her throat. “I told them, Londra was the one in charge of that shipment. She was a very efficient worker. There must be a reasonable explanation for all this. I suggested we speak to her to clear the matter up, but instead we found …” She choked up again and could not go on.
Josh leaned forward and said in a softer tone, “Ms. Madison, do you know for certain if Londra was involved with a gentleman by the name of Melvin Feller?”
Mazie turned tear-filled eyes to him. “I can’t
say for certain,” she said softly. “There have been rumors, of course, but why do you ask?”
He didn’t answer, just scratched at his head and scribbled some more in his notebook. Abruptly he snapped it shut and looked at us. “You can all go.”
I stared at him. “Really? Just like that?”
Gary nudged me as if to say, Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“My car is back at the Chinese restaurant,” Mazie said. “Could someone drive me there?”
“Are you sure you’re up to driving?” Josh asked. “I can have Officer Riley escort you home. You can get your car in the morning.”
Mazie gave him a relieved look. “That would be perfect, thank you, Detective.”
Josh took her arm and they moved into the hallway, where Officer Riley waited. I took the opportunity to whisper to Gary, “Something’s up. He had a gazillion questions for me when Amelia was murdered, and none for any of us about Londra?”
“Well, you weren’t arguing with Londra,” Gary shot back. “Plus, three of us found the body. He’s got no reason to suspect foul play on our part.” He paused. “Something was off about her body. Didn’t you notice it? The splotchy skin, the lolling tongue.” He tapped at his bottom lip with his forefinger and closed his eyes for a moment. His eyes snapped open, and he turned back to me. “Was she allergic to anything?”
I made an impatient gesture with my hand. “How would I know?”
“That was a rhetorical question,” Gary replied. “I just remember reading in a book once that the victim died from an allergic reaction, and the description of the body fit Londra to a T. Splotchy skin, lolling tongue, bugged eyes.”
“I saw some peanut shells scattered around the floor by the desk,” I said. “But if she were allergic to peanuts, why would she eat them?”
“A good question.”
Gary and I both whirled around. Josh had entered the room so quietly neither one of us had been aware of his presence. I saw that he held a plastic baggie in one hand, with a sheet of paper inside, and my thoughts turned to the paper I’d seen caught underneath Londra’s chair. I gestured toward the baggie with my chin. “What have you got there?”
Josh looked at me for a long moment and then said tightly, “Evidence that appears to clear up both Londra’s and Amelia’s deaths.”
• Twenty-Five •
For a second all I could do was gape at Josh, and then I found my voice. “Both deaths? But how?”
“Of course, nothing’s set in stone until the official coroner’s report comes in, but …” He held the baggie out to me. “His preliminary examination suggests an allergic reaction, just as Gary said. And then we found this underneath her chair.”
I took the baggie. There was a printed note inside. I read it aloud, with Gary hanging over my shoulder:
I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused, and I don’t want to do
this anymore. I killed Amelia. She knew I took the knife out of
the shipment and she threatened me with exposure. I just can’t
live with my guilt any longer, or with having innocent people suspected of something I did.
Londra Lewis
“Holy cats,” Gary ejaculated. “It’s a confession.”
“It would appear so,” said Josh. He looked at me. “As you said, there were several peanut shells scattered about. We’ll have to check her medical records, of course, but I’m betting we’ll find Ms. Lewis had a severe allergy to peanuts.”
“She committed suicide by eating peanuts?” I said. It sounded incredible to me.
Josh nodded. “If her allergy was severe enough, it wouldn’t have taken much to put her into anaphylactic shock. Death would have been quick. Her blood pressure would have risen, and her air passage and throat would swell, making breathing difficult. In essence, she choked to death.”
I tamped down a shudder. “Wouldn’t a gun to the temple be quicker?”
“It’d definitely be messier,” put in Gary.
Josh eyed us both for about ten seconds, then blew out a breath. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen cases like this before. Someone wants to end their life, but they haven’t got the guts to hang themselves or shoot themselves, so they either take poison, which can also act fairly quickly, or they subject themselves to something they can be fatally allergic to.”
“It just seems a shame,” I said. “She certainly didn’t seem suicidal when I spoke to her. Plus, she’d sent me a text shortly before her death, that she wanted to talk to me tomorrow. Why would she do that if she intended to kill herself?”
“Yes, I saw your phone number scrawled on one of the file folders.” He scratched at his head. “I can’t answer that. Maybe she wanted to confess to you, but …” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.
I stared at him, my eyes wide. “You mean her death is my fault?”
“Oh, no, no,” he said quickly. “It’s just that when people are wound so tight like that, you never quite know what might set them off. We have no idea what might have been going on in her head.” He motioned toward the door. “The two of you are free to go. I’ll let you know once we verify Londra’s medical records and get the final coroner’s statement.
I looked at Josh. “What do you think? Do you think it’s a suicide?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I prefer to reserve judgment until the final coroner’s report is in.” He paused and then added, “However, as I said, it would appear Amelia’s murder is solved.”
I noticed the extra emphasis he put on the word appear, and I had to agree. If something was rotten in the state of Denmark, then it was doubly—no, make that triply—foul in Fox Hollow. I looked at Josh. “Vertigo,” I said.
He stared at me. “I’m sorry, do you feel dizzy?”
I waved my hand. “No, no. Vertigo is the title of a movie. Alfred Hitchcock, 1958, Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak. Stewart plays Scottie, a detective with a fear of heights. An old acquaintance of his hires him to follow his wife, played by Kim Novak, whom he believes is going a bit bonkers. Scottie ends up falling in love with Kim’s character, but he can’t stop her when she apparently commits suicide by falling to her death from a bell tower. Later, he meets a woman, Judy, who’s her exact double. To make a long story short, it turns out it’s the same woman. Scottie’s friend hired Judy to impersonate his wife so he could fake her murder as a suicide. He knew that Scottie couldn’t follow her up to the bell tower and stop her from jumping because of his vertigo.”
Josh’s brows drew together, making a slight ridge in the center of his forehead. “O-kay. And you thought of this movie because …?”
“Because Londra’s murder just seems too pat, too convenient. It could have been staged, just like the character Kim Novak played in Vertigo.”
Josh stroked at his chin, his eyes slitted. “Like I said before, I’m reserving judgment until the final coroner’s report is in. You might have something there, though.” His lips twitched upward. “I guess I’ll have to watch this Vertigo. Sounds like an interesting movie. I imagine Scottie and Judy end up living happily ever after?”
I barked out a laugh. “It’s Hitchcock, after all! But I won’t tell you the ending. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”
He chuckled. “Thanks.” Officer Malone appeared in the den doorway and motioned to Josh. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “You two are free to leave.”
“Gee thanks,” I murmured at Josh’s retreating back. I raised my eyebrow at Gary and he followed me out the front door and onto the porch. I leaned against the railing, crossed my arms over my chest, and said, “Okay, Gary, I know you’ve got an opinion you’re dying to share. What do you think?”
“You’re not going to like it.” He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure I agree with your theory that Londra’s death was staged.”
“You think she did it?”
“I
f she was involved with the Feller guy, then there’s a good chance she did take that knife out of the shipment for him. Amelia finds out about it, accuses her of theft—you said that they were going at it in the park pretty good that day, right?” At my nod he went on. “So maybe Amelia threatened to turn her over to the police unless she returned the knife, and maybe she snapped. She got the knife, wrote that note to lure Amelia to the museum, and killed her.”
“Nice theory, but it’s got more holes than Swiss cheese. For one thing, that note wouldn’t have lured Amelia to the museum. The note only said that someone had discovered her secret. Amelia called me and told me to come to the museum.”
Gary considered this a moment, then said, “Maybe it was a habit of Amelia’s to go to the museum on a Sunday. Londra would have known that, and she could have left the note where Amelia would find it. She’d have been watching, since she only lives a stone’s throw away, and once she saw Amelia go inside, she followed her, waited for her chance, and killed her.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but I don’t think so.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s after ten. Let’s see if Mel’s back from his gambling junket yet. If so, we might be able to get some answers out of him before he learns of Londra’s death.”
“You’d quiz the guy and not tell him what happened to his lady friend?” Gary shook his head. “That’s pretty cold, Shell.”
I looked at him. “So’s murder. And I’m not writing Melvin Feller off as a suspect.”
∞
As luck would have it, Melvin Feller was just going up his front porch steps when Gary and I pulled up in front of his house. I was out of the car and running toward him before Gary could even put the car in park. “Mr. Feller,” I called out. “Wait. May I speak with you a moment?”
Mel turned at the sound of my voice. His clothes, a tan blazer and matching pants, looked wrinkled and his eyes were bleary-looking and bloodshot. He wiped at his beak of a nose with the back of his hand and said in a whiney tone, “It’s getting late and I’m tired. What’s so important, Miss …?”
The Time for Murder is Meow Page 23
